


Secret Santa

by Grantairesatellite



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, E/R - Freeform, Fluff, Little bit of angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Secret Santa, courf and eponine teaming up, written for enjoltaire fanzine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 13:01:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grantairesatellite/pseuds/Grantairesatellite
Summary: 'Secret Santa was just the fucking worst'In which Enjolras and Grantaire are each other's Secret Santas and have no idea what to do. Lots of pining and cute fluff.ft. Eponine and Courfeyrac trying to set up their idiot friendsWritten for the Enjoltaire Fanzine





	

Secret Santa was just the fucking worst. Joly was already on the verge of tears, Enjolras was ready to burst into a dramatic speech, and Grantaire was sulking in the corner- though not much was new there. Courfeyrac had snatched the hat off Joly’s head, even though they were outside- and yes he knew perfectly well it was cold and Joly was liable to get a cold. Inside the hat were 13 names, one for each of the Amis, plus Cosette, Eponine, and Gavroche- who insisted upon being included. Enjolras, of course, disagreed about the whole affair and, though not remotely religious, was talking about how Christmas no longer had it’s ‘true meaning’ and was nothing but a Capitalist cash-grab.

 

‘Is that Cynicism, Enjolras? I haven’t been a bad influence, have I?’ Grantaire spoke up, he wasn’t all too cynical about Christmas, who would complain about presents, food, and copious amounts of mulled wine? He was just pissed off that his dad had sent him a Christmas card, for the first time in years. That and Enjolras was giving him a headache.

 

Enjolras was about to retort when Courf slid in and shook the hat under Enjolras’ nose.

 

‘Pick a name! Pick a name! Don’t pick me though, okay? I want a good present.’

 

‘I’m great at giving presents!’ Enjolras replied, affronted.

 

‘Yeah, I for one would love to get a handwritten speech, or maybe a pamphlet of some sort’ Eponine smirked from behind Courfeyrac.

 

Enjolras didn’t reply but faked a frown and fished around in the hat for a name, swirling his hand through the pieces of paper.

 

‘It’s not the fucking hunger games, Enjolras, just pick one!’ Bahorel shouted from his seat. Enjolras ignored him and eventually picked one from the hat, he opened the tightly folded piece of paper and looked at the name, his forehead creased a little.

 

‘Uh oh! I just saw a crinkle! Who did you get?’ Courf, who had earlier preached the importance of the ‘Secret’ aspect of secret Santa, attempted to snatch Enjolras’ piece of paper. Enjolras lightly smacked him on the back of the head and tucked the paper into the pocket of his jeans.

 

‘Alright then let me get mine.’ Eponine reached over Courf’s shoulder and picked up the first bit of paper her hand touched. She hastily unfurled it before crumpling it back up and shoving it into her handbag.

 

It went on like this until everyone had picked a name out of the hat. Joly who was second to last, took his hat with him and Courfeyrac, holding the last name in his hand went over to Grantaire and dropped it on his table.

 

‘I don’t think anyone has got themselves yet, tell me if you do.’

 

‘I’d love to get myself, then I don’t have to worry about getting a thoughtful present and I can just buy myself some food.’

‘Not wine?’

 

‘That’s what I meant by food.’ Grantaire opened his bit of paper carefully, he raised an eyebrow slightly and muttered under his breath ‘Just my luck’.

 

Then slightly louder ‘No I don’t have myself, I wish.’

 

Grantaire sighed and stood up.

 

‘Thanks Courf, I need to go. When are we doing the present-giving?’

 

‘On Christmas Eve, we’re meeting up for a drink at the Musain. Oh, and the spending limit is £15 by the way.’

 

‘Fab. Okay I’ll see you later!’ Grantaire stuffed his hands, still clutching the name, into his pockets and walked off towards his flat.

 

Enjolras. Of course. It really was just his luck. What did you buy the man who had everything and hated Christmas? The Communist Manifesto? Das Kapital? It was useless, anything that seemed Enjolras-y, Enjolras already had. He could paint something but no- it just felt _too_ personal. He didn’t want to let Enjolras know how he felt about him, not now, not ever. How about an engagement ring? Or how about he just spent £15 on a sturdy rope to hang himself, that would probably be easier than all this Secret Santa bullshit.

 

Something light brushed Grantaire’s cheek, causing him to look up and snap out of his reverie. It was snowing. That was unusual to say the least, it rarely snowed in England, and certainly not in December. It would make his walk home a little more interesting at least. The romantic possibilities of snow and Enjolras filled his mind, snowball fights, burning red cheeks under golden hair, snowflakes melting on a red jacket, gloved hands holding each other.

 

This was all preposterous of course. People like Enjolras just weren’t interested in people like Grantaire, and especially not Grantaire himself. Getting a present for Enjolras wasn’t just getting a present for a friend, it was _getting a present for Enjolras._ He didn’t want the man to have any more disdain for him than was usual.

 

Grantaire didn’t even have the privilege of having only Enjolras on his mind, his father had sent him a Christmas card. This pissed him off to no end. His father, who he had had no contact from in years, apart from one look from across a churchyard at a distant cousin’s funeral, had sent him a Christmas card. It asked him to join him, his new wife, and his new stepson at Christmas. It seemed that whoever this new wife was, she had changed his father’s mind about his son. Maybe it was this new kid, maybe he’d reminded his father about what he had once had. Maybe it was all some fleeting fancy or whim, Grantaire would show up, Christmas present for his shiny new stepbrother in hand, and receive a slammed door in the face in return.

 

Grantaire was a fucking coward. He readjusted his wooly hat, and hands re-shoved in pockets, continued the walk home.

 

*

 

Enjolras on the other hand was in his flat, lying face down on the sofa. What on earth would he buy Grantaire? What had he done in some past life that was bad enough to make him get Grantaire? Courfeyrac and Eponine were right, he really _was_ terrible at getting presents. One year he’d gotten Jehan a poetry book which had turned out to be a children’s joke anthology. He just could never find the right item, of find something that really _fit_ the person it was being given to. He loved his friends, and he knew them well. He knew Marius liked old books and Jehan liked poetry and Eponine liked leather and Cosette liked pretty notebooks. But somehow this knowledge never helped him when picking items, he’d end up getting his friends something that he himself would like, or what he thought was the right thing but was actually completely wrong.

 

And of all the people he could have picked he had picked Grantaire. He wanted to get Grantaire something good, something great in fact. God knows the man deserved something great. Besides, it was _Grantaire_ , Enjolras felt different about Grantaire, not quite how he felt about the others. Of course there was the slightly antagonistic quality of their relationship but there was so much more besides that. Something richer, and unspoken, something that made it feel like Enjolras was drawn to him.

 

So yeah, there were plenty of reasons why Enjolras wanted to get Grantaire something really good. He got up from the sofa and shuffled over to his desk (shuffling because of the blanket he had wrapped around his legs). If there was one thing Enjolras was good at, it was planning and organization- the man was essentially a high quality CV. He took a pen and some paper from a drawer and began to construct a list.

 

PRESENT FOR GRANTAIRE:

 

  1. Paint/ art supplies?
  2. A hat, maybe scarf
  3. ?????
  4. ?????????



 

This was not going as well as he had hoped. He didn’t want to get Grantaire something obvious, he wanted to show how much he cared. Unfortunately, no ideas whatsoever were coming to him. Enjolras sighed, crumpled up the sheet of paper and chucked it in the bin. He took the little scrap of paper from out his pocket and spread it open on the desk. He was presented with a ‘Grantaire’ in a messy scrawl. Fantastic. Enjolras got up from the desk and flopped back on the sofa, giving up for the day.

 

*

It was the day before Christmas Eve, or Christmas Eve-Eve, and Courfeyrac and Eponine were sitting in a coffee shop on a busy high street.

 

‘Jesus, everyone looks frantic. Have you bought all your presents yet?’

 

Courfeyrac finished sipping his coconut milk, caramel cream Frappuccino, with whipped cream and cocoa powder sprinkled on top, before answering. ‘Yep! I’m surprised, I usually leave everything last minute. I mean I basically feel like I’ve left it all last minute though’

 

‘Why?’ Eponine sipped her double espresso.

 

‘Enjolras keeps texting me every ten seconds about Secret Santa. He didn’t want to tell me who he got earlier but now all he can talk about is what to get Grantaire. I’m stressed for him.’

 

‘Oh shit!’’

 

‘What?’

 

‘Grantaire’s texting me all the time too. About what to get Enjolras!’

 

‘That’s hilarious! I couldn’t have planned this better myself’

 

‘Courf, you did plan it.

 

‘I didn’t know they’d get each other though! I just hoped they would. It’s a Christmas miracle! Maybe now they’ll both stop being idiots and finally snog’

 

Eponine scoffed ‘I can’t imagine Enjolras _snogging_ anyone.’

 

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. ‘Firstly, you have not seen him drunk. Secondly he would snog Grantai-aaiire’, he ended the statement in a lilting sing-song voice. ‘Enjolras and Grantaire sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G’

 

‘Not quite yet. No need to be too optimistic.’

 

‘Christ Ep, stop being such a Grantaire!’ Courfeyrac raised both hands to his heart and looked upwards, ‘They’re in love!’

 

Eponine smirked, ‘Yeah well, we’ll see. They’re both pretty stupid’

 

*

 

Grantaire sat nervously as Courfeyrac announced that the gift giving ceremony would commence. They were in the Musain and Grantaire had already had a couple beers, unfortunately his nerves had not yet calmed. His present for Enjolras had cost nothing (and he had £15 in his pocket just in case Enjolras hated it) and in a way had cost everything. Besides destroying his cool, devil-may-care image (at least Grantaire thought that was his image) it was exactly as personal as a painting would have been, perhaps _more_ \- to Enjolras anyway. As well as that, he still hadn’t replied to his father, he thought that the years of distance between them were too hard to overcome. He also knew that he wanted to meet his stepbrother, who was only eleven, and who, according to the card anyway, wanted to meet him.

 

Enjolras was equally nervous, his gift to Grantaire had also cost nothing, apart from the supplies needed to make it, and those he had borrowed from Feuilly. It wasn’t good to say the least, but he thought that maybe Grantaire would construe it as the thoughtful present that Enjolras had meant it to be. After all wasn’t it the thought that counted the most? And people always said that handmade presents were the best.

 

The presents were opened one at a time. Starting with Courfeyrac himself, who had got a slinky, a chocolate bar, and a ‘Best of Broadway’ cd from Gavroche. Gavroche himself had a video game from Cosette, who herself had got a flower press from Combeferre. Combeferre had received, from Joly, an old edition of ‘Gray’s Anatomy’ that he had found in a charity shop. Joly, from Bossuet, had gotten a hot chocolate mug set, and Bossuet from Bahorel a pair of cozy slippers. Feuilly had bought Bahorel a ‘Lord of the Rings’ extended edition boxset, and Jehan had handwritten Feuilly a poetry anthology tailored to the fan-maker’s interests. Eponine had got a print of a William Blake painting for Jehan to hang up at home and herself received a French coffee press from Marius. Marius got a brightly patterned shirt from Courfeyrac. Once this had all been sorted, it was just Enjolras and Grantaire left, they now, of course, knew that they had each other, and bashfully exchanged gifts. Eponine and Courfeyrac shared a look between them, now _this_ they had planned.

 

Enjolras opened his gift first, it was wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string.

 

‘It’s not much, but I don’t know I hope you like it. If you don’t I can get you something else, really.’

 

Enjolras ignored this from Grantaire and held the old black notebook in his hands.

 

‘The real present’s inside’

 

Enjolras opened the cover and saw a few handwritten paragraphs. Upon closer reading, this appeared to be a speech or manifesto of a sort. Written about Enjolras himself. About how Grantaire believed in him, about how despite what Grantaire said Enjolras was a brilliant spokesperson and that Grantaire had complete faith that if anyone could make a difference in the world, it was Enjolras.

 

‘I wanted to write something you’d write. But about you of course. Speeches aren’t quite my thing, my thing’s more crappy rambles, but uh- they’re your thing so…’ Grantaire’s sentence trailed off.

 

‘It’s great.’ Enjolras’ smile was slightly watery and behind his eyes, which were gleaming, was a touch of surprise. ‘Now! Open yours!’ Enjolras, who despite his rah-rah façade had always worried about what Grantaire said about his views. He knew there were some flaws in them, and more often than not he was secretly grateful for having them pointed out- so they could be rectified of course- but knowing that Grantaire actually believed in what he said- believed in him, well, it meant everything.

 

Grantaire looked down at the present in his lap, it was wrapped neatly in Christmas-red paper. He opened it carefully, trying not to rip it and held its contents before his eyes.

 

He was holding a painting on a canvas, a painting of Grantaire. It wasn’t a good likeness, Enjolras was no artist after all. It was unintentionally impressionistic and frankly a little blurry. However, it captured in the swirling colours most of what Grantaire felt. The black of the figure’s hair blended with the bottle green of his eyes and the wall behind him. The pale fleshy tones of his hands melted into the dark, deep red of the wine in his glass.

 

If anyone but Grantaire had looked at it, they would have said it was terrible, or maybe asked if a child had painted it, but to Grantaire it was mesmerizing. It meant that Enjolras had really _looked_ at him, had noticed him when he thought that he was invisible in the corner.

 

‘Wow Enjolras.’ Grantaire looked up from the painting ‘It’s amazing.’

 

‘I mean, I’m no artist’

 

‘I love it.’

 

Enjolras smiled and they both turned back to the group.

 

The usual festive merriments commenced, Courfeyrac insisted upon buying everyone mulled ciders and Bossuet too insisted upon buying everyone minced pies. Jehan decided to read a Rossetti poem, and Bahorel demanded that they all go to his flat on Boxing Day to have a Christmas movie marathon.

 

This being December, it was already pitch black by 6pm, and Grantaire had to stand under a street lamp to light his cigarette. His hands shivered as they reached for his lighter and the snow had not yet quelled.

 

As much as Grantaire loved his friends- lived for them, even, he wasn’t quite in the mood today. He wished he could enjoy tonight as much as everyone else seemed to, but the problem of his father was still hanging over his head. Also he wanted to figure out what exactly Enjolras had meant by that painting, Joly and Bossuet were his best friends and he’d never received something so… intimate, from them.

 

Grantaire was watching the snowflakes fall softly in the yellow lamplight when he felt a touch of pressure on his shoulder.

 

‘Hey.’ It was Enjolras.

 

Grantaire shakily took the cigarette from out his mouth. ‘Hey.’ There was a pause, ‘Why aren’t you inside? With the others?’

 

‘I wanted to see what you were dong out here. And I wanted to thank you, for the speech you wrote. It’s amazing and it really means a lot to me.’

 

‘Ah it’s nothing…’

 

‘It means everything to me. I mean I know you play devil’s advocate half the time but knowing that you really think I can achieve anything, well that means a lot.’

 

Grantaire felt his face burn ‘Your painting, the painting you did, it er- it means a lot to me too. I thought I was just that guy in the corner who blurts out nonsense and is, ultimately, unnecessary. I don’t know I guess I thought you of all people never really saw me there.’

 

Enjolras frowned and moved half a step closer to Grantaire, he now could see the frozen air coming out of his mouth with every breath. ‘Of course I see you there. Most of the time I’m doing my speeches _to_ you. I know for a fact everyone else in that room believes what I’m saying, that they know all the stuff I’m saying anyway. It’s always been you I’ve been trying to talk to.’

 

Grantaire looked up from the slush under his feet. ‘But why? Why me?’ his voice was louder now, incredulous.

 

Enjolras was looking into Grantaire’s eyes, crystal blue meeting opaque green, flakes of snow were lightly dusting the collar of his jacket. Grantaire bit his bottom lip, this was insane, this wasn’t happening, this-

 

‘Don’t you know?’ Enjolras leaned forward, almost imperceptibly, and Grantaire leaned closer in turn, now they were so close Grantaire could see the ring of hazel around Enjolras’ pupils, which, despite the lamp light, were slightly enlarged.

 

It was getting increasingly harder to breathe and Grantaire’s next word were low, and quiet. ‘No.’ Though despite everything he knew to be true, he thought he was beginning to have an inkling.

 

‘Let me show you.’ Enjolras was close to whispering, not that anything louder would be necessary at such close proximity. Grantaire had never heard the man whisper before. He noticed that far from the usual cool alabaster, Enjolras’ cheeks were burning red.

 

Before he could form another thought, Enjolras lips were gently pressed against his own, hot and soft. The opposite of marble.

 

Enjolras slowly pulled away and Grantaire looked up.

 

Suddenly the other man was nervous, ‘I, uh… was that’ Enjolras stopped for a second as if trying to find the correct word ‘…okay?’

 

Grantaire, not quite the orator Enjolras was, just leant forwards into another kiss. This one wasn’t the same as the one that had preceded it, it had a little more pressure, a little less hesitation. It said everything that had been going unsaid between the two for the last three years. Enjolras placed a hand onto Grantaire’s shoulder, Grantaire did likewise and the two leaned on each other. Their other hands found each other and gripped each other tightly.

*

Inside the Musain, Courfeyrac and Eponine, who had rubbed two circles in the fogged up windows- for better viewing of course, high fived. It really was a Christmas miracle.

 

‘I’m so proud.’ Courfeyrac stated, still looking intently out the window.

 

Eponine pretended to wipe away a tear, ‘They grow up so fast.’

*

 

It was half an hour later when Enjolras and Grantaire walked back in to the Musain. What they had been up to (vigorous snogging) was apparent from the hot blushes across their faces and their unruly hair.

 

Eponine smirked and shook Enjolras’ hand, much to the man’s embarrassment. ‘As much as I love you Enjolras, you do know I’d just as easily kill you, right?’

 

Enjolras was about to reply, probably to remind the group that murder was bad, when Gavroche decided that the time was right to stand on a chair and shout really loudly- really too loudly for any public space:

 

‘Merry Christmas and God bless us everyone!’

 

Courfeyrac pulled him down and, much to Gavroche’s disgust, pulled him onto his lap.  ‘Oh dear! I’m sensing something! Something bad!’ Courf put his hands on top of Gavroche’s head. ‘I can see an empty stool by the fireplace next Christmas. Tiny Gav will die!’ At this melodramatic cry, the Amis all started to ruffle Gavroche’s hair, and pinch his cheeks. Eponine even went for a kiss on his nose. All of this served to make Gavroche run and hide behind Grantaire’s chair.

 

Enjolras smiled, who would complain about Christmas?

*

 

 

It was midnight, and so Christmas day, when they all departed. Grantaire and Enjolras kissed again, outside the Musain, and this kiss still was different from the ones that had come before. This one was a promise, of something yet to come.

As Grantaire turned to walk back to his flat, he caught one more glimpse of Enjolras as he got into his car. Things were good, surprisingly.

 

Grantaire, feeling love, and slightly drunk and all things Christmassy, pulled his phone out of his pocket and called his dad.

 

After all, it was Christmas.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's not pre-Christmas anymore but I hope people like this! I'd be eternally grateful for any comments, this is the first fluffy fic I've done, and the only self contained one. I usually opt for drawn out angst. Thanks again!!!


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